Visiting the Past
by J.L. Stone
Summary: Jonny QuestTRA:Estella pushes Race just a little too far when he takes Jessie to visit.They have their rough spots, but being apart draws tension.To make matters worse, the mueseum's artifacts are disappearing. I fixed my typos.


Visiting the Past

By J.L. Stone

Chapter One

Double Life

"Yeah, she's packing now." Answered Race as he checked his bathroom mirror for the usual spot or blemish on his face. Although not one for vanity, Roger T. "Race" Bannon liked to keep himself as well-groomed as possible. Satisfied he listened to his ex-wife, Estella Velasquez laugh on the other line.

"Tell her that she still has clothes here from the _last_ time she visited."

Race gathered his boots up before leaving the bathroom. He shut off the light and strode out into the sparse chamber that he called his bedroom, and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. He tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder and began pulling his worn, leather shoes on.

"I'll tell her," he reassured, "she's really happy to be going over." Race heard Estella give a satisfied sigh.

"I baked her favorite: Oatmeal raisin cookies—they're a little burnt but-"

"I'm sure they're fine, Stella." Race interrupted. He knocked the heal of his boot against the floor, frowning. The boots were getting tighter—vaguely he wondered if he _was _getting old. People did say, after all, that your feet never stop growing-or, was that your nose? As he pondered this, Estella broke his thoughts:

"Well, Roger, if you have the time . . ." she paused, "I would appreciate a visit from _you_."

Race hesitated for several moments in which his brow furrowed and he looked like a confused child. He shook it off and smiled, saying; "I'll see you when I drop Jessie off."

"Okay," Stella's voice grew a little faint. "I found something in the attic…that I wanted to show you."  
"Sure thing," Race answered. There was a knock on his door, and from the other side there came a muffled voice.

"Dad."

"Yeah, come in Jess." He replied, and once more, addressed Estella. "I gotta go, Stella, Jessie's ready."

"Okay. See you soon." Estella said casually, and before he could reply, there was click and a dial tone rang loud and clear.

Jessie hauled her bag across the room with only slight difficulty. Despite her outer, girlish figure, Jessica Bannon owned enough muscle to make up for the utterly _male _environment that enveloped her. She smiled up at her father, who threw the cordless-phone on his bed after pressing the OFF button. He smiled down at his daughter, whose green eyes, in that moment, were all too haunting. He smiled weakly and ruffled her hair.

"All set, Jess?"  
"Sure am!" Jessie answered with a smile. She patted the side of her luggage and heaved it up. "I packed my swim-suit, just in case."

Race nodded and began out, followed closely by Jessie, who fumbled awkwardly with the case as she tottered toward the door. Her father looked back at her with mild amusement and asked: "You got it, Jess?"

"Uh—yeah." She said curtly, heaving it out into the hall. She let it sit there for a moment while Race closed the door to his bedroom. Checking his pockets, he made sure that he had the keys to the jet before embarking further.

"Okay," he said with a thoughtful note, "let's go."

Estella had just taken the tea from the stove when Race and Jessie entered the kitchen. Jessie did not hesitate: At the site of her mother, the teen quickly discarded her luggage at her father's side and went soaring into Estella's arms. There was an exchange of laughter and hugs, and all of this, Race watched from the kitchen doorway. It took Jessie all of three minutes to finally settle down. Estella, smiling, gazed down at her little girl who was quickly becoming a young lady.

The green eyes that twinkled up at her were of carbon-likeness to her own. She smiled and stroked the cascade of flaming red that framed Jessica Bannon's features and her eyes gleamed with delight.

"My my, look at you! Quite the rose you blossomed into, young lady." Estella's smile faltered only slightly as she looked up at Race. He stood in the doorway, tranquil and leaning against the doorframe with a faint smiled etched into his features.   
"Roger . . ." she whispered, "you haven't changed a bit."

"You look pretty good yourself, Stella." Race's smile widened and he patted Jessie's suit-case. "I'll take this up to your room."

"I'll accompany you!" Estella added hastily as he hauled the luggage up with one arm. Jessie looked slightly taken aback, but Stella riposted with: "I wouldn't want you to trip. The stairs are dreadfully steep." She smiled down at her daughter, "Jessie, will you set the table. I made dinner, but you arrived before I could put plates out."

"I'm on it!" Jessie answered, and got to it. Estella crossed the kitchen elegantly to where Race awaited her, and they began off, down the corridor that led past the den and the drawing room. They came to the stairs, where Estella insisted upon going last, telling Race that she would tell him when to duck, for the next landing hung rather low above the staircase—however, during the entire ascent, Estella's eyes never _once _drifted from Race's backside.

At the top of the stairs, Race paused on the landing to wait for Estella. She shot him a fleeting smile, touching the banister gently with her hand before slowly taking the last step up to the hall.

"Roger," she said gently as he began toward Jessie's usual room. He stopped in mid stride and turned to look at her. She glided forward, like an elegant wraith, and put a hand softly to his.

"Stella," he said uncomfortably, "I need to put this away."

"You can put it down here," she assured him. As if to urge him on, she patted his hand. Instinctively, without thinking, Race lowered the case gently to the floor. He straightened his back and gazed at her twinkling green eyes.

"Ste—"

"I missed you, _Race_," she whispered, drawing closer. Her arms went around his neck and, head going to his shoulder. They stood as if frozen in a dance.

"No . . ." Race uttered, grabbing her arms, he pushed her away gently. However, when she gazed back up at him, the fire in her eyes had not ceased to burn.

"Yes . . ." her brows furrowed avidly, lips parting slightly, she spoke: "Do you ever think about me? About . . . us."

"Yeah," he said gruffly, "I think about our divorce and how Jessie doesn't have _both _parents to guide her." He glared and shook his head. On the landing, there was a window that overlooked the vast, green yard. He strode to this window, running his fingers alone the windowpane, admiring the feel of the solid, polished oak. He sighed deeply from his chest—he could feel her eyes on his back.

"She has both parents," Estella protested, "I have been nothing but a good mother to her!"

"If good is _gone_," Race answered angrily, "then yeah—you've been the _best _mother she could want."

"You aren't exactly an excellent role-model," she quipped, voice raising. "Have you any idea what living with _you _could cause her to . . . she could grow up and be like one of those . . . _spinsters_."

"Spinsters?" Race turned on his heal and crossed the landing like a cat angered. He pointed a finger in Estella's face, brows furrowed with anger: "Afraid she won't ever find a boyfriend? I'd rather her _not _date than date, Stella!"

"You're saying you don't want her to be happy, then?"

Race had had just about enough. His eyes narrowed to thin slits and he drew his mouth into a tight line. Cheekbones prominent, he gazed her down with icy, blue eyes.

"I didn't come here to argue, Stella. I didn't come here to reminisce about what we _did _have and what we _don't _have now." He relaxed, smiled slightly and nodded a curt goodbye. As he padded down the stairs and disappeared on the landing below, Estella's heart lurched and she shook her head.

At dinner that evening, neither Jessie or Estella spoke through their meatloaf. The soft clink of silver on china rang out through the house, mingling with the smooth lilt of jazz that was drifting from the den's antique record-player. Jessie smiled at the tunes: She remembered, as a child, she would imagine herself in a big ballroom, dancing with the prince from Cinderella, donning an elegant blue dress—sometimes she'd imagined it to be green—and then rushing out and down the stairs, only to lose her glass slipper on the red-carpeted stair. Funny, though, when she was a little girl, the prince had looked a lot like her Daddy; but now that she was older, in her minds eye, he seemed to hold quite a few of Jonny's features.

After all of the meatloaf was cleared from their plates, Estella did the dishes. She washed them thoroughly with hot, soapy water, rinsed them under cold water, then handed them off to Jessie, who dried them with a big, soft, white towel. When all of the dishes were done and neatly stacked in their proper places, Estella took from a cabinet a platter of Oatmeal Raisin cookies—which Jessie approved of—and poured milk into two small, crystal tumblers and then headed out into the den.

With the jazz music filling the air, they sat on the loveseat and nibbled on cookies, dipping them in milk and giggling when one of them lost a chunk amidst the liquid. After a while, Jessie sank back into the cushions of the seat, while Estella sat hunched a little, gazing across the room at a picture of she and Race that stood on a gold-trimmed, glass table beside the record-player. Jessie noticed her mother's intense stare and leaned forward.

"Mom," she said, "what's wrong?"

Estella sighed unsteadily and closed her eyes. She stood up and crossed the room silently to stand before the picture. Race's blue eyes were filled with the happiness she longed to bring back to him—to all of them. At length, Estella answered. She turned on her heal, a huge smile in place and stretched her arms out.

"Nothing is wrong, Jessie dear," grinning she said, "come here. I want to teach you how to dance."  
"Oh . . ." Jessie said, astounded at first. She shook the feeling and stood up. "I've never danced before."

"Come on," Estella said as Jessie reached her. "It's not that hard, darling. Come on now," she ushered her closer and took up her hands. She placed one on her left hip, and took the other up in her right hand. "One, two, three," she hummed, "one, two, three. Left, right, right . . . aaand, exchange right foot."

Jessie tripped a little over her own feet. Again, she tried to learn the steps.

"Remember," Estella said; "One, two, three. One, two, three. Left, right, right, exchange. Left, right, right, exchange. There you go, you've got it!"  
As the jazz washed over them, they stepped and twirled with the occasional mistake. Estella smiled down at her daughter who returned it with an equally warm one. When the song died out, they dispatched and Estella bowed like a gentleman would: Playing along, Jessie curtsied, and the two burst out into loud guffaws.

"Hey, Race! Where's Jessie?" Jonny's voice rang out and echoed back in the hanger where Race was striding from the jet. He tried his hardest to be chipper as the blonde-haired teen fell in step beside him enthusiastically.

"She's at her mother's for a few days." Race growled as he opened the hangar door that led into the compound. The corridor beyond lay stretched before him—he did not feel like traveling it, but had no other choice. Jonny continued to follow him as he began onward, toward his room.

"Did you have a nice visit?"

"I don't really want to talk about it, Jonny." Race answered curtly. Jonny, a little taken aback, stopped momentarily in his stride. He fell behind as his body-guard and mentor stalked on, but he caught up once more as he ran after him.

"So . . . it _wasn't _a good visit?"

"Jonny," Race's tone warned the youngster to leave the subject alone. He stopped in the middle of the hall and stared directly at Jonny with aggravation fixed to his expressions.

Elevating a brow, he answered: "I'm just _tired_. I need to get some sleep."

"Race . . ." Jonny said. His brow was furrowed with concern. Race had always been there for him—the young Quest had a strange urge to return that favor. With that strong sense of duty firmly planted, Jonny took a step forward and placed a hand on his mentor's shoulder: "Did you and Jessie get into an argument."  
Race looked at his feet and hitched the corner of his mouth up, "No. . . it was Estella . . . I . . ." Race shook his head as though disappointed, "just don't want to talk about it right now, Jonny. Maybe tomorrow. I need some sleep."

Jonny sighed. Race was being stubborn, and so he decided not to press the matter: "Okay, Race. Get some sleep."

The white-haired man nodded. The two parted ways, leaving Jonny to wonder, and Race to think.

_Chapter two coming soon: feedback is welcome._


End file.
